Tempo Story: Just Because

It doesn’t help that I’m having this conversation in my own head. I know my husband would never let me buy something with this sort of justification

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

F

lying transatlantic alone. And no working phone. Frightening a little, but freeing too. No reminding, calling, waiting. What do they call solitude — the grandness of being alone?

I walk toward my gate and get sucked into the well-placed lights of the duty free concourse, knowing I’m being lured but not even trying to resist.

“30% OFF, TAX FREE” claims a bold sign over a glass case. Rows and rows of glitzy watches, dazzling under the glare of the lights. Rose gold, mother of pearl, vintage Roman numerals.

I could use a watch… mine is almost three years old, I start to rationalize.

“Great deals today,” the saleswoman gushes.

She doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what a savvy shopper I am, what a saver I am. How hard it is to wheedle me into buying stuff, much as I love pretty things.

“These went on sale just yesterday.” She points to a shelf.

One watch stares at me, white faced, unblinking.

A dainty anchor hangs from its bracelet. It’s casually different from the others. I like different.

I love it.

But I don’t like to spend, I’m careful, get things dirt cheap only and this trip has cost enough, and… And heaven knows we’re spending so much on the fertility treatments — even if A TIME is footing the main bill. There’s so much on the side, medication, transportation, and missed work, again and again....

“I love the anchor, keeps you balanced, I say,” Saleswoman croons. She shows me her Pandora’s bracelet that has a tiny anchor hanging from it too.

I could use some balance in this choppy life of mine.

And it’s tax free.

But what’s the occasion? comes the ever-present voice of prudence.

Birthday present, check. My husband is quite the gift plyer.

Suddenly I know. We’re trying a new, invasive treatment next month, our first major try. I need a chas v’shalom gift.

What? Don’t be ridiculous.

Yeah, I’m nothing if not sympathetic to myself. Something to cheer me up if it chas v’shalom….

I let the saleswoman clasp the golden links over my hand.

But why are you even entertaining that thought? Planning for it?

I’m not really… this is just in case….

It doesn’t help that I’m having this conversation in my own head. I know my husband would never let me buy something with this sort of justification.

And maybe that’s why he’s not here.

It looks beautiful on me, shiny and delicate, demure.

“If I fail my exams, I’m going to go out and get drunk.…” Someone said that recently, who?

Blonde-streaked ponytail. Sure, Claudia, my cleaning lady had said that. She’s taking an English course and needs to pass so she can get her citizenship — and a better job.

I’d cringed when she told me. A drunken night instead of an honorary mark?

And suddenly I think: I’m not much different, what’s a watch next to a baby?

This justification I’ve fabricated, that I deserve to get the watch…. What sort of reasoning am I buying into? What sort of violation is that to the hopeful little stretchies in the back of my closet, to the stroller bag I bought two years ago?

A watch to symbolize the passing of time — what?

Thoughts rain down, pelting me, until the saleswoman looks up at me, and says, “Hmm?”